Powers Best Left Untouched
by StorySongs
Summary: "A power the dark lord knows not"... may or may not have been shorthand. Voldemort attempts to ensnare the Shadow Mages, with disastrous results.
1. Chapter 1

"_A power the Dark Lord knows not…" may or may not have been shorthand for "a power the Dark Lord tried to control, which backfired miserably and slapped him in the face before leaving in a fit of rage." Yeah, "knows not" is definitely shorter. _

Soul magic had always been one of Tom Riddle's great loves. Something about the dark, forbidden nature of what made a person a person attracted him like a moth to a flame. So, when he found a chapter in an ancient magical text about the Shadow Mages of far-off Egypt, his curiosity was peaked to almost unendurable levels.

Magic that could rip apart the soul with surgical precision, sending one part to the afterlife while leaving the rest to serve its master eternally as nothing more than a monster, or convert the raw power contained in a soul to create a seal powerful enough to hold a spirit of destruction… Tom Riddle wanted that magic.

After his second birth, Lord Voldemort decided he still desired it. The only problem was that Shadow Mages had been extinct for well over three thousand years. No schools for their kind for him to terrorize, no higher authority for him to infiltrate, no sign of the dreadful dark magic he craved. He grew more irritable by the day (though the fruitless search was only one of many troubles that caused his bad temper), raging inside as he _wanted_ down to the edges of his tattered bit of soul.

Until, finally, word reached his ears.

Rumors of soulless victims followed one person, a Ryou Bakura. On the surface a polite, rule-following Muggle boy, son of a Squib mother and raised ignorant of his heritage. Below that… Those who haunted the midnight streets spoke with fear of a white-haired mage with maniacal laughter and a complete disregard for human life, stealing as he pleased from who he pleased. He carried no wand but worked dark, terrible magics; leaving those in his wake screaming and begging as they writhed in mental prisons of their own making. The Dark Lord doubted these rumors, somewhat. How could one tiny squib-descendent child, raised ignorant of magic, possibly control the dark power that Shadow Magic was rumored to be?

Nevertheless, it was the only word he had received in months. He would arrange to meet this… Ryou… and see if the tales were true.

* * *

Living alone was normally considered lonely. And it usually was, unless, like Ryou Bakura, you weren't actually living alone.

Ryou scanned his small apartment out of habit.

Dinner simmering on the stove? Check.

Floors vacuumed, sheets washed, laundry folded and put away? Check.

Ancient Egyptian spirit sprawled out on his couch watching a crime drama show? ...Check.

Semi-transparent and invisible to normal eyes, the spirit reclining on smooth white leather and occasionally shouting obscenities at the TV or muttering about inaccurate blood spatter was far from most people's perceptions of a Thief King. Somewhere along their crazy life the two had worked out an almost peaceful coexistence.

"_Yadonoushi! _ I need the body tonight. Think I'll show these idiotic producers what a REAL crime scene looks like…"

… Like he said, _almost_ peaceful.

"Is that the only reason you want to kill someone?" His therapist would shit bricks if she heard this conversation, but ignoring Bakura like she suggested had never done him any good. He had always ended up waking up in some compromising position, with his pockets full of stolen goods and a cackling thief in the back of his head. Talking to him was better.

Bakura scowled at his other half as Ryou sat down by his head and absentmindedly relocated a drink to a coaster.

"The blood spatter was all WRONG! And you could SO tell the autopsy was fake, blood doesn't flow like that after twenty-four hours congealing! So, obviously, they need to see what a real dead body looks like. Tell me _Yadonoushi_, where can I find the producers that created that awful show?"

"I believe that show was American. You'd have to go to Hollywood for that, and I don't think even you could manage to make it there in one night. Remember our agreement?" Bakura huffed irritably and shoved Ryou off the couch. (He didn't squeak at that. Really!)

"Fine. I'll just go…" Ryou looked at his other half, concerned. Bakura didn't usually stop like that mid-rant…

The weird cold-but-hot sensation of his yami returning to the Ring and reinforcing their bond flowed through him at the same time a sharp knock came at his door.

_/Tread carefully, hikari._/

Ryou swallowed as he went to answer the door.

"Can I help you-"

"_Stupefy!"_

* * *

The world went dark, and the last thing Ryou remembered was Bakura swearing and snarling as he tried to break the magic's hold.

Lord Voldemort stared disdainfully at the small body slumped in the hold of two of his Death Eaters. _This_ was the Shadow Mage he had spent months searching for? The reports hadn't done him justice. Far from an intimidating figure, the slender, almost femininely beautiful boy didn't look capable of intimidating a butterfly; much less ripping a soul into pieces. Well, maybe it was a mistake…

The boy's eyes snapped open.

Both Death Eaters fell back with choked screams, clutching their heads as magic darker than _anything_ Lord Voldemort had ever felt lashed out at them. The boy stood to his full height, swiping a hand across the corner of his mouth.

Blood-red eyes met blood-red eyes and the Dark Lord's reptilian blood ran cold. Ages of hate and anger lingered behind those eyes. Dark tendrils of pure shadow rose from the floor to circle the boy's feet lovingly, and the Dark Lord practically salivated as he rose from his seat.

"Shadow mage, it is an honor to welcome you to our circle." The young man gave a sharp laugh, eyes darting to the wizards surrounding them.

"Somehow, I am not feeling the welcome." He hissed in a voice much darker and raspier than expected. One pale, slender hand came up to grip the golden ring hanging on a leather thong around his neck. That curious, Egyptian-styled ornament had burnt the hands of his Death Eaters when they tried to remove it.

"Ah, yes… I apologize for my agent's actions. They were unnecessarily rough, but I'm sure you understand, we could not take chances with a mage of your power and… reputation." The white-haired boy bared his teeth in a parody of a grin and spread his hands.

"Afraid I would rip your souls from your body and give you, screaming and begging for mercy, to the Dark?" Several uneasy shifts from his minions. He would have to reeducate them on who controlled their fate later.

"We did not wish for you to incapacitate us before you heard our… proposal." He descended from his dais and approached to stand closer to the mage. In this range he could _feel_ the magic that radiated off of the boy, touching every bit of darkness in the room and extending past his senses, to the fabled other realm the Mages touched in legend. A delighted shiver stroked its way down his spine. A white eyebrow lifted as the mage gave him a look that spoke without words. The boy added them anyways.

"And now that you have harmed my… me… you seriously expect me to be more cooperative?"

"You have barely even tasted our power. It would do you well to cooperate with us, young mage."

He threw his head back and _laughed._

"YOUNG?" The boy began a slow stalk around the Dark Lord, forcing him to continuously turn or else let the boy have free access to his back. "You snake-faced idiot, I am over three _thousand_ years old. I have seen more evil than you will see in your pathetic lifetime. I have seen an entire village cursed down by the darkest magic known to mankind. I have faced Ammit while my torn soul was judged unready to be weighed and cast adrift to time, forever seeking its other half. I have sent thousands to the Shadows, screaming for mercy and granting it to not one. I revel in the blood of the innocent. What, in the name of all the gods, could _you_ possibly do to scare me?"

By this point they were nose-to-nose. The entire room held its breath. Red eyes under white eyebrows narrowed.

"I can feel your soul, darkling." He hissed softly. "Every torn edge, ragged and screaming. Every thread that should bind you together broken apart. Be careful that you don't break too many."

Voldemort took a step back. The mage smirked.

"I'm glad you now know the seriousness of your transgression. But, you must understand… I cannot let this impudence go unpunished. Now the only question is, how, exactly, should I enact my vengeance?" The mage's tongue flicked over razor-sharp canines. His Death Eaters retreated backwards, many raising their wands defensively.

Mad laughter bubbled from the mage's chest. "Ah, I know. You who have ripped your soul apart… Would you wish to feel it whole again? To sew the ragged edges back together?" As he spoke, shadows began to wind up Voldemort's feet. A strange feeling began in his chest, something that burned like suffocation and salt in a fresh wound. Something just beyond his reach, dearly desired but always just beyond his fingertips.

"As much as you might desire to be whole again, the Millennium Ring has no such power. The ring can only find, and drive you in the direction of what you seek." A cruel smile curved Bakura's lips. "For as long as your soul remains separate, the magic of the Shadows will remind you of what you have lost. This… is your Penalty Game."

The white-haired man began to fade into dark mist.

"Trouble me again, and I will not be so lenient."

Feeling the pain of his ripped soul renewed with every breath, and losing the promise of dark power he had desired for so long, finally broke the Dark Lord's mind. He screamed, a terrible inhuman sound, before drawing his wand and lashing out blindly at his followers. Senseless with rage he cursed them with every dark punishment he knew. Every other disappointment paled beneath this wrath, because now…

He would never have what he wanted.

* * *

**Outtake!** (Inspired by Bakura's habit of leaving Ryou to wake up in compromising positions…)

Consciousness returned slowly to Ryou, the morning sun shining into his eyes. Well aware of Bakura's lack of self-preservation instincts, Ryou gently moved each limb to check for injuries before attempting to rise. Nothing felt broken, no new cuts that he could feel, just the general burn of hard exercise and the soreness of a few fresh bruises. An easy night then.

With a sigh he turned over and snuggled into the pillow, wanting to savor the quiet for a little longer. The thief was surprisingly silent in the back of his head. The bed was soft and surprisingly… warm? What was going on?

He opened his eyes and promptly sat upright with a yelp… startling the young man next to him into wakefulness. The blond-haired African man sat up, utterly unashamed of his nakedness and giving him a sultry smile.

"Good morning, Beautiful."

Ryou scrambled backwards and promptly fell off the bed. Bakura was laughing hysterically in his soul room, and the hikari cursed him with all of his limited profane vocabulary, letting his head thump to the floor helplessly.

He just HAD to have a yami with a sick sense of humor…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, it's almost 2:30 in the morning so I'll try to keep this short. (Please excuse typos and plotholes. This bunny has been chewing me for a while and I wanted to get it written.)

The feeling Ryou gets when Bakura returns to the ring... if you're like me, and prone to passing out when you get overheated, you'll understand this. For me, there's a few moments right before I faint where I feel both hot and cold- mostly, my forehead and cheeks feel hot while every other part of me breaks out in chills. That's what I imagine that sensation to feel like.

Moldy-wart throwing a temper tantrum (egged on by magic essentially making him live with chronic pain, without relief, for the rest of his life) is no fun at all. (Unless you're Bakura and are snickering at him.)

The outtake... yeah. No, they didn't actually have sex! My thought process is that Bakura paid someone to sleep next to his Hikari, just so they could wake up together and he could make Ryou panic. Also, the young man I had in mind?... Shamelessly, Fire Emblem from Tiger and Bunny. (Younger, and blonde, and not superpowered, but that attitude.)

Feel free to PM me or leave a review with any questions you might have. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Preface: **

**I hope this shows you the immense power of reviews. I hadn't intended to continue this, but then I got a few reviews asking about it, and, well... Here we are. I do have one more chapter planned for this as well.**

**WARNING: This chapter stars Yami no Marik, and all the insanity and cruelty that implies! Read at your own discretion. I wouldn't consider this overly graphic, certainly not enough to justify a Mature rating, it's just Malik toying with some heads and being his usual twisted self. Oh, and there is one use of the B-word.**

* * *

The desert wind playfully made the hem of the Dark Lord's cloak flutter as he stood before the old stone building in a long-abandoned city. Reptilian eyes glared at the darkened buildings as if they were the cause of all his problems- including the persistent pain deep in the center of his being.

Curse all Shadow Mages, and their casual use of punishment curses! Despite the… setback… he had not given up on finding another Mage to teach him the dark, forbidden arts of their magic. The possibility of a Mage being able to remove the painful curse never crossed his mind. Truly.

His search had brought him to Egypt, the original homeland of the Shadow Mages. Rumors of one bloodline, holding the artifacts that could unlock the Shadows, had trickled slowly into his ears. The Ishtars, revered and feared in most of Egypt's magical circles, had especially drawn his interest. The youngest boy of their family was rumored to have inherited some of the power of his ancestors. He'd come to find him personally, not trusting his Death Eaters to handle him this time, but his search had led him only to this abandoned, ruined town…

"Ishizu told my other half you were searching for me."

Lord Voldemort nearly jumped out of his skin at the hissing, sibilant voice and whirled around to face it.

The bronze-skinned man leaned casually against a degrading building, his long purple cloak waving in the wind that also combed invisible fingers through impossibly spiked, messy blonde hair. The bright desert sunset glinted off the gaudy golden ornamentation on his arms, neck, and ears… and the golden scepter in his hand that radiated a Mage's unmistakable dark power. Lord Voldemort swallowed as his aching soul gave a shudder- the curse upon it reacted with the stranger's magic.

Red eyes met crimson-tinged violet, pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks, and the Dark Lord realized… the Mage _knew_.

"Oh, yes, Fluffy let us all know what happened… Quite a clever punishment, if I do say so myself. But I pride myself on not being _quite_ as grumpy as our resident thief." He spread his hands dramatically. "I am willing to at least _hear_ your proposal before dragging your soul through the darkest parts of the Shadow Realm."

The Dark Lord took a deep breath, a feeling thrumming through his veins that he couldn't- wouldn't- identify. (It wasn't fear- he was never afraid! He was the most powerful wizard in the world!

… Wasn't he?)

The mage smiled, a glint of too-sharp canines revealed in the twisted expression.

"You'd best start talking, wizard. I grow bored very, very easily."

"My name is Lord Voldemort. I am the most powerful wizard in existence, and I aim to cleanse the world of the useless Muggles and their magicless lifestyle. I came seeking you so I could learn your style of magic; think of it! How powerful we could be, if we added our strength together! You could help me scourge the world, and rule the new society by my side…"

"Nope, you lost me there." The Dark Lord broke out of his rant, startled. "If I'm going to rule the world, I'm going to rule it my own way, not second-best to anyone." The golden rod in the young man's hand tilted in his direction.

"Now, the question is… What shall I do to you?" Voldemort was frozen in place by the pure mad glee he saw in those eyes.

"I could drop you into the depths of your own mind, or even more traumatizing, pull you into _mine_… No, Hikari-pretty doesn't like that idea, since it's partly his mind too. Ooh!" The man _bounced_ on his toes. "I could take over your mind and make you go tie pretty pink bows onto kittens! Or I could make you slaughter everyone you care about. But no… You don't care about anyone, do you? Perhaps I should just kill you, remove one more annoyance from the world…"

"NO!" The wizard was just as startled as the mage when Bellatrix leaped from her hiding spot behind a ruined pillar- when had his most loyal servant followed him? Why?

"You won't hurt the Master! I won't let you!" She pointed her wand at the mage; even from a distance they could see that her hand trembled. The mage laughed, a dark, chilling, mad sound.

"Oh, here we have the loyal dog, come to protect her master…" Another cackle. "But would he do the same for you, little mutt?" His voice descended into something resembling a croon as the mage pointed the golden rod at the witch. Though he couldn't see them, Voldemort could _feel_ the creeping cold of the Shadows the man controlled as they surrounded Bellatrix. Her arms went rigidly to her sides and her eyes went strangely blank.

"Bellatrix…" Voldemort whispered in despair, despite his determination to be quiet. He couldn't fight this magic; what if he was the next to be ensnared? The mage grinned.

"Oh, so that's the pretty bitch's name? Come here, Bellatrix…" He extended one hand, and like a zombie, she crossed the distance to take it. Whatever he was doing, it had to be similar to the Imperius curse- his Bella would never submit of her own will. The mage pulled her into a twisted parody of an embrace; one muscled arm around her waist, the wings of the scepter pressed dangerously under her chin as he pulled her back to his chest.

"Broken little Bellatrix… Pining after the man who saved you from your own little hell… But he'll never notice you, you know. He's not human anymore, doesn't have enough soul to even comprehend such loyalty and emotion." He licked the shell of her ear slowly, torturously, and frowned when she didn't react.

"Oh, now that's no fun…" He loosened a bit of the magic and Bellatrix's mind broke free, eyes filling with panic even as her body stayed still. "That's better." The mage met Voldemort's eyes. "It's so much more fun when they're aware of what's happening, don't you think?" He pressed the scepter a little harder against her throat.

"Now, time to prove my point… Bellatrix, let's make a bet, shall we? I bet that your master won't be willing to face me to win your freedom. If I win, I get to play with you until I'm bored. If you win, you get to go live with your so-called Master for a little while longer." His arm tightened around her waist and she gasped. "Let the game begin…"

Terrified, tearful eyes met his. Voldemort was baffled. Surely she knew that he couldn't hope to face this unknown magic? Sacrifice a knight to protect the king, it was only good strategy, but Bella was staring at him as if waiting for him to step forward and protect her.

The mage was staring at him with that insane smile. It only widened as the wizard took a step back, and when he turned around the man broke out in gleeful laughter.

The last thing he heard before he Apparated out of the village was Bella's heartbroken, tortured scream.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Poor Bellatrix, putting all her faith in a man who truly can't return it...

Seriously, it was your reviews that made this happen. The plotbunny had gone to sleep, and then I got reviews from this story and BAM, it was awake and bouncing around the room like my dog on a sugar high. Thank you all. :)

I hope you enjoyed this new installment, review if you feel the urge!


	3. Chapter 3

The child held captive in the middle of the Death Eater circle seemed to be swearing in Japanese.

Severus blinked behind his mask as he took his place, the last to arrive as usual. Surrounded by wizards bent on his death, the Muggle boy had no hope of escaping and was at the moment bound only by the circle of people. Defiant blue eyes glared at them beneath a mop of truly untamed black hair as he gripped the curious square charm on his necklace like a lifeline. Blood dripped slowly from a cut just below his hairline and he was standing unbalanced, like he had recently injured his foot or ankle. Severus judged him to be sixteen at the oldest, in the gangly awkward phase that indicated he would probably be tall when he grew up.

Well, he would have been tall, at least. Trapped by Voldemort's cronies out in this long-deserted warehouse, his chances of survival were slim to none. With force of habit and will the double agent made his face expressionless- he couldn't afford to jeopardize the whole war effort for the sake of one Muggle boy.

The restless shifting and jeering of eager Death Eaters was abruptly cut off as their master stalked into their midst. Severus watched him carefully even as he bowed his head; the Dark Lord had become even more unstable after the meeting with the strange white-haired man. The look in his eyes as he'd faded away had made even Severus uneasy, and he hadn't been the subject of whatever magic he'd worked. Then Bellatrix had crawled back to headquarters, raving and even more out of her mind than usual; she screamed uncontrollably at the sight of anything gold and kept whispering about shadows. Something very strange was occurring around the strange new magic Voldemort was obsessed with, and Severus didn't like it one bit. The look in the Dark Lord's reptilian eyes as he began his speech was… terrifying.

"My friends, we are approaching ever closer to the conclusion of our efforts, and the perfect world we strive for! Dumbledore grows weaker by the day, and this pitiful Order of the Phoenix works only to stop our immediate plans and not our future goals. Take the time with me tonight to celebrate our victory and taste what is to come when we are able to purge the Muggle taint from the world, forever!" A general cheer set up from the audience, but quickly died down as they heard a strange noise. The boy in the center of the circle, was… Laughing?

Yes, he was actually _laughing,_ covering his mouth with one arm to try and hide his amusement. The Dark Lord wheeled, raising his wand threateningly.

"And what could be so funny to a little piece of filth?" The boy stifled his giggles, but barely.

"Really? Have you even listened to yourself? Taking over the world to end a race of people you personally dislike. How cliché. Did no one ever teach you how to talk out your problems?" The entire circle was frozen in pure disbelief; with Bellatrix raving in a padded room, there was no one fanatical enough to take true offense at the statement- at least not enough to start attacking the boy without orders. Voldemort scowled dangerously.

"You're very insolent, for a brat of the very race we have vowed to cleanse the world from." The boy just shrugged.

"You're not the first self-centered megalomaniac with world-conquering dreams I've encountered, or even the second or the third. One piece of advice I can give you from experience… People tend to not trust their leaders when they can tell they're batshit crazy!" He stage-whispered the last words, and Voldemort's face screwed up in pure rage.

"You will regret those words, boy! _Crucio!"_ Wounded ankle and all, the boy managed to dodge.

"Ooh, struck a nerve there have I?" The boy was either insanely brave or just insane. Severus honestly couldn't decide.

"A good leader needs to be able to protect and aid his followers, and insane people can barely manage to take care of themselves. That's something my brother taught me, and it applies whether you have magic or not." He shook his head, flopping his mop of hair around. "You'll never rule the world. Not permanently." Serious blue eyes stared him down.

"You _DARE!_" Voldemort was well beyond rage by now, and stalked towards the boy as if he intended to strangle him with his own bare hands; the first clout about the head knocked him to the floor, and one booted foot rested firmly on the boy's throat. Teeth bared, the Dark Lord raised his wand in preparation for a final blow. Just before he would have struck the warehouse doors slammed open, breaking the Dark Lord's concentration.

"Get the _hell_ away from my brother." The tall young man standing in the doorway snarled, cold blue eyes alight with fury and his long coat flapping in the invisible waves of dark power that flowed off of him. Severus drew back a step before he realized what he was doing, his eyes darting between the boy on the floor and the murderous man in the doorway. The blue eyes and shared facial shape would have been a clue to their relationship if the man hadn't already announced it, but what really sealed the bargain were the identical necklaces around each of their necks. Not just an older brother, then, but an obviously protective older brother with a strange dark magic Severus could feel half a room away.

He started planning escape routes.

* * *

The Dark Lord turned around to face the newcomer, taking his foot off the insolent boy's throat in surprise. The child scrambled to his feet and took a few hasty steps away with a laugh made of pure relief.

"Hello, _nii-sama_." Cold blue eyes darted to the boy for a moment, taking a quick catalog of injuries and emotions before moving back to the man who had been pinning him. When they locked eyes Voldemort felt a sliver of fear trickle down his spine- a small voice in his head was screaming _run, run, he'll eat you alive,_ visions of bloodstained fangs and a predatory smirk flashing before his eyes.

Voldemort quickly regained his composure, but he couldn't understand why he'd been disturbed in the first place- the young man had an intimidating presence, yes, but he didn't feel quite like a Mage and he certainly wasn't a wizard. His theatrics meant nothing here.

"How cute, the big brother coming to rescue the little one. What exactly do you expect to do against us? You have no wand, no magic. _Muggle._" He spat the last word viciously. He wasn't expecting the young man to react, but he gave him a smile that bared every tooth.

"You're letting your own desires cloud your judgment. You've been seeking out the Shadow Mages, so you must've come across others who have similar magic. I don't know whether to be offended or amused that you've ignored us." He shrugged dramatically. "We call ourselves Shadow-Touched; we don't have the innate ability to manipulate souls, but we draw from the same power source they do. You'd know that and recognize our potential if you weren't blinded by your own greed and stupidity. Here's a lesson for you, wizard- you don't have to be a Mage to hear the Shadows call… and to call them in return!"

The young man flicked a strange small playing card between his fingers, showing them its face and the blue-white dragon image printed there. Power flared in Voldemort's senses as the darkness in the room began to waver and then coalesced between the wizards and the young man.

Shouts of surprise and fear filled the room, but were quickly drowned out by an inhuman roar as the shadows seemed to shatter, leaving the immense form of a shining white dragon in their place. Utter silence followed as the wizards gaped at the beast and began to back away as quickly as they could.

"You've hurt my brother. I don't tolerate that." The captured boy had used his brother's distraction to slip away from the wizards and limp to his brother's side behind the dragon. Narrowed blue eyes scanned the gathering without a hint of mercy. "Obliterate them."

The lucky ones managed to Apparate away before the concentrated white lightning struck- the others fell to the floor, screaming, with mindless looks of terror on their faces.

Not many were lucky.

* * *

The news that nearly half of Voldemort's Death Eaters had been sent tumbling into unbreakable comas struck Dumbledore like a stone. The look on his face was almost funny, Severus thought idly- it wasn't often that the old meddler was so completely blindsided. The old wizard was pacing furiously as Severus watched, having shed his mask and formal robe to report back to his other master.

"Are you sure the young man referenced "Shadows", Severus? The same way the others did?"

"I've already told you yes at least three times." Dumbledore gave him a halfhearted glare before sinking back to his thoughts.

"If he meant what I think he meant… Very old magics seem to have reawoken, Severus. I fear for what their wielders may want."

"Not much, honestly. Just to be left alone."

Severus had spun and was firing off a Stunning spell before he knew what was going on, but the young man leisurely reclining in Dumbledore's desk chair simply held up a playing card between his fingers and the spell disappeared into a swirling multicolored vortex.

"Be at ease, I mean you no harm." Ruby-red eyes watched them with amused patience as Dumbledore began to sputter incoherently. Despite the possible danger Severus was darkly amused as well- when the Headmaster's serene shell broke it broke hard. Normally only Severus himself was capable of baiting the man into speechlessness.

"How- How did you enter here?! There are wards to prevent Apparition!" The man with insanely spiked multicolored hair just shrugged.

"It is very hard to prevent Shadows from forming. Even under the brightest light some things fall in darkness." Dumbledore quietly fumed at the cryptic answer but was quickly pulling his composure back together.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" The man leaned forward and rested his elbows on the dark wooden desk.

"My true name has long been lost to the sands of time and winds of fate. You may address me as Yami, or Yami no Yugi if you prefer my full title- it suits as well as any other. As for why I am here, I am certain you have at least an idea." He raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Voldemort's pursuit of the ancient Shadow Magic." The young man nodded once with all the regality of a king.

"He has come after those under my protection, and I wished to meet those who opposed him." Dumbledore's eyes gained a subtle spark.

"To join our cause?"

"To ask why you have huddled in your corners like fearful dogs, whispering and whimpering but accomplishing nothing. This should have been stopped long before it escalated to this degree of madness, considering how long you've known of this tyrant." Dumbledore froze in surprise at the man's accusatory tone. Yami's eyes held no amusement now. Silence reigned for a moment before the Mage sighed.

"Perhaps you do not understand the severity of this wizard's transgressions. His soul is split into many uneven pieces, some of which have moved on from this world and others which have not. They pull towards each other, longing to be reunited, and disrupt the balance of the world." Red eyes pinned the headmaster, hypnotic. "We Mages are creatures of balance, wizard- It is our source of strength and sanity, and it is our instinct to correct what is flawed. We have left this wizard alone, however, as he is one of your people and we collectively assumed you were capable of handling him. But now he is in pursuit of our magic, which has the power to injure the world's balance even more. We cannot stand for this."

He rose from the chair (Severus was shocked at the man's diminutive height, and impressed that he still managed to look imposing) and stalked around the edge of the desk.

"It is time for we Mages to step in and correct what you have failed to do. You will owe us for this, Wizard. Do not think we will not collect."

With those ominous words his body dissolved into mist and shadow. When even that disappeared Severus and Dumbledore were left staring at each other, both with a nagging feeling they had escaped serious harm and one thought running on repeat through their minds-

_Did that really just happen?_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter took me a while. I originally wrote out about 3,000 words before realizing that the story was degenerating into a boring dialogue-heavy mess and wasn't following the spirit of the first two chapters, and I was writing myself into corners plot-wise. So I scrapped it completely and ended up writing this. Seto insisted on making an appearance as well, and who was I to deny him? =p

This was intended to be the last chapter, but Yami insisted on ending on a dramatic note.

Just a warning, the last chapter may take a while as well... I've gotten really hooked on Fullmetal Alchemist and most of my story ideas are coming from there at the moment. I WILL finish this, though! Thank you all for your support and reviews. This is my most-viewed, most-reviewed story at the moment.

I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment!

-SS


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